


and though your music lingers on (well all of us are glad you're gone)

by templefugate



Series: I'd Kill for a Great-Great Grandpa Like Yours [2]
Category: Coco (2017), Disney - All Media Types
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Related, Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, POV Alternating, Villains
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 10:28:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14042256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/templefugate/pseuds/templefugate
Summary: "Death is hardly the end, boy. For many it's a chance to reinvent themselves, to be someone they never could have been while alive."-Stay is such a strange word, implying that someone has somewhere worth leaving for. Yet Ernesto asks him the question all the same.





	and though your music lingers on (well all of us are glad you're gone)

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic has been brewing in my head since I first saw the movie. If anyone has read my previous Coco fic, "and in the silence bind us," then they know I've given some thought to the question "What if Ernesto really was Miguel's (other) great-great grandfather?"
> 
> Also, while rewatching the movie, I realized Ernesto's mansion looked as though it belonged on the cover of Hotel California. So fire up some eerie 70's music, sit back, relax, and hopefully enjoy!

For a boy who came clamoring to him for a blessing, he sure seemed to be taking his time examining the manor. It had been Ernesto's idea - better the boy know where he was going then risk falling into something worse than a pool. Since the two had left his main foyer, stepping over spilled finger food and broken wine glasses, the boy's eyes had grown two sizes.

"Like what you see?" It was hardly the first time he'd played tour guide, but for once he didn't have to worry about his guests having sticky fingers. If the boy had learned anything over the night, then it was not to steal from the dead.

It was also the one night he could catch the gaze of a passing security guard and nod, smile, and wave them away.

It was when they neared his gardens that Ernesto spoke the question that had been dogging his mind for so long. "Miguel, mi hijo, if your family won't let you play music then why go back to them?"

Miguel had steadfastly refused coming to his show. Never mind that millions would be watching, or that he would introduce the boy himself. If the boy wanted his blessing so badly, then the least he could do was give him a decent answer, something to chew over until the next Dia De Los Meurtos.

The boy was silent, head down and face hidden by his hood.

"Long ago I learned that the best way to deal with those who would deny you your dreams, often the people closest to you, is to forget them."

"But they're my family!" His voice squeaked at the end.

"And?" Ernesto raised an eyebrow. "You're my familia, and that means supporting your goals." He winked. "Luckily for you, I might be able to help with that."

"I..." Miguel buried his hands in his pockets.

"Let me ask this instead: if you go home, what will you do? Certainly not run off to any music classes. I'd say you'd have to sneak around like a rat, wary of forever prowling cats, if you even wanted to practice playing your guitar. But you seem to no longer have a functional one."

Indeed, he'd given the boy a brand new guitar earlier that night. No true De La Cruz carried around that hunk of splinters and tin he'd brought in earlier.

There were marigolds everywhere, orange as the impending sun. The flowers, usually so fresh and bright, suddenly seemed to tower over and taunt the two.

"If I don't go back, then how will I become a great musician?"

Ernesto leaned down, pulling off the boy's hood and ruffling his fingers through his hair. The flesh of his scalp, a feeling so strange and nearly forgotten that it was almost foreign, tickled Ernesto's fingertips. "Death is hardly the end, boy. For many it's a chance to reinvent themselves, to be someone they never could have been while alive."

He leaned down, until his face was near the kid's ear. "I just can't imagine why you'd want to go back to such a despotic excuse for a familia." Ernesto turned his head upwards. Twinkling stars broke out between the blanket of black, which had yet to so much as purple around the edges. "I'm asking you to stay with me, Miguel. You would be free to pursue your dreams and build your own future, free to show the world what you now lock away so deeply inside of you.

It's your choice, of course. I merely ask that you give yourself time to think it over. It's a moment worth seizing."

-

Miguel's stomach may not have been visible between his rib cage, but he could certainly feel it twisting inside his chest. Ernesto had left to prepare for his show, leaving him in his manor's garden. He'd long since discarded his shoes, his feet buried in the murky waters of a small yet deep pond. The sound of unseen cicadas and frogs filled the air.

Ernesto hadn't left him alone. One of his abuelo's chihuahuas had taken a fast liking to him. Though the dog had long since fallen asleep, Miguel continued scratching at her ears and the soft fur of her back.

His hands were fully bone now. If he paused, he could count every carpal.

What would happen when, if, he arrived home? His parents would go from simple shoemakers to hardened cops, and he doubted his abuela would be able to keep her shoes on. Cousins would tease and stage whisper about him. He'd continue being the only kid at school who had a parent's note saying he absolutely couldn't attend music class. Even walking in the city's central square would get his ears pulled.

Had he learned a few days before that Ernesto De La Cruz, the greatest musician in the world, was his great-great grandfather, the idea would have killed him. To discover said great-great grandfather wanted him to live with him?

Well, once he got over the initial shock, the excitement in his belly and fire in his soul relaxing, he would have scoffed. Some things just didn't happen.

But living boys didn't waltz into the Land of the Dead either.

If he went back, what was to say his family would finally be on his side? What was he to them but a wad of clay to sculpt into a shoe maker?

-

"I was scared you got cold feet!" Ernesto patted Miguel's shoulder.

"You were right, abuelo. There's nothing left for me to hide."

Even if Frida wasn't busy dazzling the stage, the chatter of millions of guests would have hidden his words. The world needed to hear Ernesto's music, but these words were meant for only one person in his familia.

"You made the right choice." The faint sound of cheers and claps reached his ears. "That's our signal. Ready?"

Miguel's only answer was to reach out and take his hand. Turning, the two headed towards the eager crowd and the warm embrace of the rising sun.

-

To Socorro, anything bright and shiny was a toy, be it a new sewing machine, bottles of laundry detergent, or an ofrenda. Luisa leaned down and picked up a picture frame, careful to avoid pieces of broken glass. Later, when she had the heart to sweep, she'd muse over why holidays only seemed to bring her more work.

She could barely look at it. There had been great debate over whether to put it up at all, not when the same portrait graced the back of milk cartons and posters across the country.

Besides, what would it say if they put it up?

Still, there was a place for remembrance just as there was a place for hope, a hope that none of the Riveras seemed ready to forfeit. Standing up, she placed the photo back near its spot on the ofrenda's upper center. After the holiday, they could fret over buying a new frame.

**Author's Note:**

> IDK when I'll have the next chapter up. I'm honestly surprised at how on fire I've been with writing lately. Keep in mind though that this fic went through a few drafts (since November) before I was finally happy with it.
> 
> Depending on where this story goes, there might be more chapters. I'm not about to make any promises though.


End file.
